


Swirling clouds in violet haze

by MisanthropyMuse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Fingering, Fluff, Grantaire smokes weed, Kissing, M/M, No Condoms, No Lube, Porn, Sex, Smut, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras steals Grantaire's favourite shirt when he goes on a trip. When he comes back, he goes on his knees to beg for forgiveness. Literally.<br/>Inspired to this tumblr post: http://prouvaireish.tumblr.com/post/72165066049/grantaire-having-a-cool-handpainted-starry-night .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swirling clouds in violet haze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cydonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonia/gifts).



Grantaire fell on the couch with a sigh, exhausted and pissed. 

He had looked everywhere. In every corner of every room, under, above and inside every piece of furniture he owned, among every pile of clothes stacked around his flat. He had called every single one of his friends to ask them if they had seen it, but nothing.

His favourite sweatshirt, the one he had worked on for hours, the one he had wore on his first day of Art School, the one he always wore to paint or even just to feel a bit better some times, the one in which he had mixed Van Gogh's Starry Night and the sky he always saw from the windows of the Musain and whatever galaxy image he had found on Google, the one he put on after his first time with Enjolras, it seemed to have disappeared. 

He had one last call to make, one last hope hanging from his boyfriend's hands. 

"Hey, what's up?" Enjolras joyfully said, picking up almost right away.

"I can't find my shirt." Grantaire whined, leaning his head on the backrest. 

"Which one?" Enjolras asked in a business-like voice, already focused on the task. 

"The Starry Night one that I always wear when I paint." the painter replied. Enjolras gasped. He didn't notice.

"If it isn't at your place I must have lost it, somehow, because I looked everywhere and I can't find it and I'm lost without it, please tell me you know where it is." he went on, almost begging. 

"I know where it is." Enjolras said with a strange, embarrassed sort of giggle Grantaire decided to ignore.

"Thank God. Where?" he asked instead, with a sigh of relief.

"Well, emh, on me?" Enjolras muttered, almost hoping he couldn't hear him. 

"Do you mean...?" the black haired wanted to be sure before yelling at his boyfriend through a far too delicate phone. 

"I guess I kind of stole it?" 

"Oh my God. Enjolras, come on!" Grantaire exclaimed, trying to be upset as he should have been. "You know I don't have money for clothes and I can't risk ruining another one with paint!" making it about money always made Enjolras feel guilty. "And I have to finish a commission in two days and now I have to paint shirtless and you know how cold is it now in Paris? I'll probably get pneumonia and die and it'll be your fault." work and health, too. 

He could almost see Enjolras’ face crumple. 

"Come on, you have plenty of white t-shirts you can ruin." he tried, in spite of his guilt.

"I do not, really. And it's also a matter of rituals and habits and respect, Enjolras. I don't steal your clothes." Grantaire said, avoiding his excuses. 

"You stole my red jacket for two weeks, once." Enjolras bit back.

"I didn't. You left it here and I just forgot to return it." Grantaire corrected him, as if he hadn't slept with it for two weeks while the other was away.

"I'm sorry, okay? I just...it smells like you. And I..." his voice died, and Grantaire could perfectly picture his flushed cheeks and his lowered eyes. 

With a low, frustrated groan, the artist couldn't find himself angry enough any more. 

"You know that I may be forgiving you right now, but I want you to return it as soon as you land, right? Just right after. I'll tell Combeferre to come pick you up and bring you here." he said, trying to keep his voice still and intent.

"Why can't you pick me up?" Enjolras asked, a bit disappointed. 

"I'll lend Eponine my car. 'Parnasse got out of jail and they're going south for the weekend. I hope they don't fuck in there, ew." the other replied. Enjolras laughed. 

"Okay then, at your place. I have to go now." he said.

"Enjoy my shirt, thief." Grantaire said, hoping to sound as pissed as he wanted to.

"Paint well. I love you." the blond said, his smile audible in his voice. 

Grantaire tsked before closing the call. 

He got up from the couch, turned his laptop speakers at full volume, his favourite spotify playlist on repeat, and went sitting in front of his easel.

Then, with a sigh, he took off his shirt, a shiver running down his spine because of the fresh morning air. 

Enjolras would have paid for it. 

  


Three days later, Enjolras slowly dragged his trolley all the way up to Grantaire's loft. 

Fucking artists, he thought, they all can by drugs and no one can afford to fix the elevator. He bit his tongue, regretting it. The last time he had said that to Grantaire they hadn't spoken for almost a week. 

Sweating and panting, after four floors of steep, rickety stairs, he finally got to Grantaire's door. He heard music from the inside. He was whether cooking or painting or smoking. 

As soon as he had caught his breath, he got his emergency keys and opened the door. 

Two out of three. 

Grantaire was standing in front of his easel. In his left hand stood a brush covered in green paint, and in his right one an already half smoked joint.

Enjolras could have had the will to complain if he hadn't been too distracted.

The painter's bare, pale, tattooed back almost shone in the middle of the room. Suddenly, Enjolras couldn't really care about anything else.

He closed the door, leaving his trolley next to it, and walked up to his stoned boyfriend. He wrapped his arms around his waist and placed a gentle kiss on the Latin quote tattooed on his left shoulder. 

Grantaire startled and dropped the brush, turning around. As he saw Enjolras he smiled and kissed him. 

He tasted like pot and beer and chocolate, but Enjolras had missed him enough not to care. 

"Wanna make a pull?" Grantaire asked him, raising the joint. 

Enjolras shook his head, lowering to kiss a small bird tattooed on his left collarbone. 

"Hey! My shirt." Grantaire finally noticed. "Take it off." he said, tugging at it.

"I want you to know that I am sorry for stealing it, even if having you shirtless now may be worth the guilt." the blond said, taking it off. Grantaire smirked, helping him, then he held the shirt close and looked at his boyfriend pretending to be considering something.

"You know I could put this on and come back to my job and ignore you for the two days of no sex you'd deserve." he said, taking a drag of the joint and blowing the smoke in the other's face. 

Enjolras didn't even blink.

"But I may be to high to repress my arousal, so I'll leave you five minutes to think about a way to make amend now." the artist went on, finishing his joint and tossing it on the floor. He threw the shirt on the couch on the other side of the room, to keep it safe.

"I don't need five minutes." Enjolras said, his most delicious grin on his face, and slowly knelt before him, trailing kisses all over his chest.

"You're not even wearing pants." he laughed when he pulled down Grantaire's sweatpants and kissed him on his hip. 

"I haven't got out once in four days, why would I need them? And I love the plushy feeling on my cock." Grantaire replied, moaning lightly. 

Enjolras laughed again, the vibration making Grantaire shiver, and then focused. 

Slowly, keeping his eyes locked into Grantaire's, he took his limp dick between his lips, he took it all, and sucked hard, making his boyfriend shriek lightly. 

He felt his cock getting hard as he sucked again, and when he thought it was enough, he started going back and forth, slowly, working his tongue around his length, eyes still wide open, his hands on Grantaire's hips to keep him steady and close. 

Grantaire was now moaning without reserve, one hand stuck into Enjolras' hair and the other grasping the easel to help him stand still. 

Enjolras started sucking on his flushed tip, licking pre-come and stroking the rest with his hand. 

"I'm close." Grantaire moaned, his legs shivering so hard he was barely able to stand any more.

Enjolras didn't pull away. He was really trying to do his best in order to make up for stealing the shirt. 

He stroked faster and sucked with more decision, until he felt Grantaire's balls tighten and, as the painter came, he milked his orgasm into his mouth, with the filthiest expression he could pull out, staring at Grantaire who couldn't take his eyes off of him, licking it, tasting it on his tongue, dirtying his lips with it and then swallowing it without even the tiniest hesitation. 

For the sake of his quivering legs, Grantaire dropped on his knees and kissed Enjolras with hunger.

"Am I forgiven? Because I'd really like to fuck you, but I won't if you don't want me to." Enjolras asked when they parted to draw breath. 

"Oh, shut up." Grantaire replied, biting his lips and kissing him again. He kicked away his trousers wrapped around his ankles and opened the other's jeans. 

Enjolras grinned as Grantaire pulled down both his jeans and pants and then lay back on the crackling wooden floor. 

"Please, tell me, what do you want me to do? What could make you forgive me?" he said, and he wasn't teasing. His big blue eyes were full of actual guilt and care. It was important for him to have everything clear before doing certain things.

"I want you to fu..." Grantaire started, but made up his mind half sentence.

"Oh God, for how cheesy this sounds, I want you to make love to me, and prove me why you so desperately needed to keep my clothes near." he said instead, and he could have sworn he had seen tears in Enjolras' eyes before he bent down and hid his face in Grantaire's neck.

He thrust his nose on his collarbone and neck and the back of his ear, and inspired deeply.

"Your scent." Paint and cologne and yes, also weed and alcohol and sweat. It was Grantaire's very being, and he was fucking addicted to it. "I can't stay too long without it, and that's the shirt that keeps it best." 

Grantaire moaned quietly out of tenderness. (and maybe because Enjolras had slid a hand on his arse and was rubbing his arsehole)

"And, well, I also love the surprised and amazed look on people's face when they ask about it and I say that my boyfriend painted it. " Enjolras added, making Grantaire laugh. 

"Can you promise me you won't steal it again?" he asked, holding back a moan as Enjolras slid a dry finger inside him. 

"No." the blond replied. 

Grantaire moaned loudly at the second finger. 

"Can you promise me blowjobs every time you do it, though?" the painter said. 

"Oh, yes. Totally." Enjolras said, scissoring and stretching his hole, trying to be as gentle as he could.

Even though they both liked rough sex, he never liked seeing pain on Grantaire's face. 

"It's a deal, then." the artist grinned, parting his legs more and pushing against his boyfriend's hand.

Enjolras smiled and reached over to kiss him. On his way back up, he stopped to inhale Grantaire's scent again, and his smile widened.

Then he pulled out his fingers, made Grantaire lick his palm and started stroking his already half hard dick.

Grantaire was actually happy without any kind of lubrication, but Enjolras didn't feel comfortable in hurting him so much, so they agreed on at least using spit. 

When Enjolras finally pushed in, Grantaire moaned and sighed at the same time, of pleasure and pain and relief, and opened himself to him.

Enjolras kept his promise. He didn’t just fuck Grantaire, roughly and quickly as he knew he liked. He made love to him. He pushed slowly, deeply, taking the time to hear the other catching his breath and moaning, and to watch him gape and squeeze his eyes. He kissed his collarbones and his eyelids, he bit his neck and his lips and his lobes, he nuzzled his bristles and his hair. 

He whispered into his ear how much he had missed him, how beautiful he was and how much he loved him. He caressed his arms, his chest, his tattoos. 

He stroked his cock, gently but firmly, brushing his thumb on the tip and then spreading pre-come all over his length. 

Grantaire was so overwhelmed by feelings that he could barely function. He wasn’t even aware of the hard wooden floor against his back as Enjolras was sweetly taking control over every single inch of his body. He could just lie back and take everything Enjolras had to give him.

Every word, every kiss, every push shook him completely, sending shivers across his entire body, pulling obscene moans out of his mouth and taking his breath.   
He came first, groaning a curse and digging his nails into Enjolras’ shoulder. 

Enjolras smiled and kissed him, and after a few more pushes into Grantaire’s shuddering body, he came too and pulled out before rolling on the floor next to his boyfriend.

When their breaths and hearts had come back to a regular speed, Enjolras curled on his side and placed his lips on Grantaire’s shoulder.

"Am I forgiven now?" he asked, smirking against the other’s skin. 

"Yes, you fucker." Grantaire exhaled, reaching up to stroke his golden hair. 

"We need to get up?" Enjolras asked, now pouting a little.

"Yes, if you don’t want to wake up frozen and with the worst backache ever." Grantaire replied with a soft laugh. 

Slowly and reluctantly, they both got up from the floor and crawled to bed and curled up under the covers, intertwining their legs and touching their foreheads together. 

"You know I really do love you, right?" Enjolras asked after a while. 

"Yes, I do know. And I do love you too." Grantaire replied in a whisper. 

Enjolras took his hand and smiled. 

The smile had not ended when they fell asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a gift for my friend Giulia, who's currently very stressed because of her exams and who lives to far away for me to hug her. So I try with writing smut. (I'm not always this bad at friendships I swear)
> 
> This fic is inspired to [this tumblr post](http://prouvaireish.tumblr.com/post/72165066049/grantaire-having-a-cool-handpainted-starry-night) . It's unbetaed, so I apologise for any mistake.  
> The title is taken from Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) by Don McLean. You should all go check that song because it's amazingly heartbreaking.


End file.
